


35mm and a World Apart

by SunshineMoonRX, SuperChickenDX



Category: Kamen Rider (1971), Kamen Rider - All Media Types, Kamen Rider Blade, Kamen Rider Decade
Genre: Body Image, M/M, Post Zi-O, Postseries, sad bugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-01-30 20:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineMoonRX/pseuds/SunshineMoonRX, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperChickenDX/pseuds/SuperChickenDX
Summary: Daiki wants to give Kenzaki and Hajime their happy ending back.What could possibly go right?
Relationships: Aikawa Hajime/Kenzaki Kazuma, Hongo Takeshi/Ichimonji Hayato (mentioned), Kadoya Tsukasa/Kaitou Daiki
Comments: 16
Kudos: 62





	1. Hajime

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place after Zi-O, and has spoilers for Blade, Decade and the Taisen movies from the outset. You don’t have to have watched Rider ‘71 to read this (but if you’re looking to fill a Sunday afternoon, maybe give it a try?)

* * *

Destroy everything [_ that stands in the way of love _]

Connect everything [_ until nothing is lonely _]

[_ not even us _]

* * *

Hajime stared up at the summer-clear sky through the leafy forest canopy. It was good light, which could bring out the richness in every earthy tone around, or would sparkle off the edges of waves—

But even though he’d dragged himself outside for the sake of it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to use it properly. How long had it been since he’d taken any good photographs? Every restless night rolled into another uneasy day, mounting up into weeks of being unable to focus a lens properly, mind circling around the dreadful feeling of thorny plates shifting under human skin.

Better to let time run together than to sleep and wake and find himself, somehow, expecting Kenzaki to be next to him. Maybe it was a dream he could never remember, of two people crammed safe and warm into a narrow bed. Maybe they ate together in the dream, too. He’d given up on proper meals a while ago, sick of realising he’d filled two bowls for no reason.

The rattle of a grasshopper nearby drew Hajime’s attention. He started searching for it in the grass, then the trees—finding the lean thing at last perched on a fern. He crouched and fumbled the lens cap off his camera, trying to find a good angle to capture her among the feathery leaves. From this way she was standing proud from the plant, but the busy background overpowered her, and from this way, her drab colours tried to melt her into the plant, but her shape was too awkward to find a rhyme with, and, and…

Her noise joined every forest call and chirp bouncing around his hollow chest.

He was lonely.

This whole summer, he’d been desperately lonely. _ Alone _ was fine, he could manage _ alone _ into eternity, but _ lonely _ was—

_ Go and live among the humans, Hajime. _

—there was no way he could risk going back to see Amane when it felt like he could at any moment split open, teeth-first, to tear up the infuriating peace of the world. He missed Kenzaki, aching endlessly around the empty space just for the sake of everyone and everything else in the world, and what did it matter to any of them? What did they know about it? On they went, clueless and happy and miserable and violent creatures all of them, and here he was, capable of destroying all of it at a single slip, and yet at the same time too useless to hit the shutter on his camera and create a picture, a single crystal of the infinite time he would wretchedly wade through and at the end he would—

Hajime bit down on his anger until it crumbled inside him. At least if he stayed like this, too pathetic to get out of the forest, he wouldn’t go and find Kenzaki.

He shifted again, taking another attempt at a better angle on the grasshopper though the camera lens. If he was lucky, something would come along to eat her.


	2. Good Intentions

Normally Tsukasa didn’t go for anything too oily, but the miso mackerel here was..._ heavenly _, that was really the only word for it. It was warm and welcoming, like an invitation into someone else's home, and he found himself smiling at the gentle taste. He often came to this world purely for the food. Well, it certainly wasn’t for the company.

“Hey, waiter.” He gave a lazy wave. “More of that. I’ve got a long journey coming up.”

“Ri~ight away,” came the reply from behind him, a lean arm reaching down towards his finished plate—and freezing as Tsukasa grabbed it by the wrist halfway into his pocket.

“Your manners haven’t improved, Kaito.” He dragged the flimsily-disguised thief down into the seat next to him, scanning the room for the real waiter.

Daiki spread himself over the table to stay in Tsukasa’s field of vision, a gleam of pride in his eye. “You recognised my voice...isn’t that romantic?”

“Fuck yourself.”

“Spicy...but I know even you believe in love, deep down.”

Tsukasa turned his full attention to his interdimensional stalker, who was now arched so far back across the table he was in danger of sliding off the other side. “Is there a point here? You’d better not just be here to proposition me.”

“I can do _ that _anytime.” Daiki sat up with unnerving speed, perching gargoyle-like on the bench. “But no, I need your help with something. Remember Kamen Rider Blade?”

“The one that beat the hell out of me, or the one I left hanging?”

“First one. Kenzaki Kazuma. Tragic figure, isn’t he? Living forever alone, never to meet his dearest friends again…star-crossed lovers, torn apart…making a monster of himself, defying fate for all humanity…”

“Enough already.”

“I’m just _ saying _, it’s so sad—but so romantic! Going so far for someone...”

“Chalice, right?” Tsukasa’s fingers drummed on the table. “They were the ones with, uh...the Undead, the Joker, the stone...yeah, I get the gist. What about ‘em?”

“They were reunited. Just for a while, but it happened. Right when I first dropped in on that whole Zi-O thing.”

Tsukasa frowned. “Don’t remind me. Dumbass kid went and got all the worlds separated, after all the work I did combining ‘em.”

“The _ point _ is,” Daiki said, leaning ever closer and forcing Tsukasa to duck back ever farther, “it happened once. It can happen again. You of all people know the value of a happy ending, right?”

Tsukasa grabbed both shoulders and shoved him into a sensible seating position. “This is stupid. More importantly, does your Driver have a silent mode or something?”

“No. Why?”

“With Invisible we might be able to get out of here. I don’t have any money.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” Daiki said, lowering his voice to add, “Hey, let’s just hop to another world.”

Tsukasa dipped to a whisper. “I’m kinda scared to try. The, uh...the server is…”

A powerful, clear voice cut through their murmurs from behind. “Grandmother said this: Those who cannot appreciate the value of good food, cannot be trusted. And there is no food in this world finer than Hiyori’s.”

“Great…” Tsukasa took a deep breath, standing up and jabbing a finger into the sous-chef’s rock-hard chest. “Looks like the only way out of here is through this one. Let’s do this.”

* * *

Tsukasa began the slow process of extricating himself from Daiki on one side and the garbage pile on the other, one limb at a time, as the steady clop of _ geta _sandals receded back into the restaurant. He finally shoved Daiki off onto the concrete, sitting up and hissing as he felt at his bruises.

“Hell of a dining spot,” came the weak voice from below.

“I mean, he’s—_ ah _—not wrong,” Tsukasa said, slowly easing himself to his feet. “You won’t find better food in any world I’ve been to.” After a moment’s consideration, he offered a hand to help Daiki up. “I’ll do your stupid thing.”

“Huh?”

“Blade and Chalice. Let’s go save them.”

“I knew i~t!” Daiki flashed a wide grin. “You do believe in love.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Tsukasa pushed him back to arm’s length. “If I say no, you’re just gonna try on your own, and then I’ll have to come clean up the apocalyptic mess you’ve made. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

“That’s _ all! _”

“Okay.”


	3. Going Through the Motions

Rain smashed down in sheets on the road. Hayato wrestled the violent wind to stay in control of Cyclone. Nobody with sense should have been out riding in a typhoon, but through the storm, he had heard it—the skipped heartbeat of a bucking motorcycle, tyres rushing over water and mud, and a dull, terminal impact.

There, off a bend in the road. The flash of a red seat on a fallen motorcycle, and next to it, the motionless form of a young man. Hayato carefully came to a stop next to the scene and practically jumped off Cyclone to kneel beside him.

“Hey! Can you hear me?” The man was unresponsive, but Hayato could hear his shallow breathing. His pulse was... faint, and far too fast. Hayato looked him over for wounds, and saw something oozing through the jeans now torn at the knees—something bright, acid-green—

—blood?

The young man slowly opened his eyes.

“No hospital,” he whispered. “Please. I’ll heal.”

There was no confusion or shock to be found in those eyes—just weary resignation, and pain long beyond the endurance of a human body. Those were the eyes of a Rider.

Hayato nodded, shrugged off his jacket, and held it up to try and shield them both from the rain.

* * *

At a restaurant two streets over from a garage, silvery steam curled up from two bowls of soba. Hayato watched the man sitting across the table staring listlessly into his meal. Tall, pretty, with striking, wide cheekbones—if not for those haunted eyes, Kenzaki could have been a wonderful model.

"Come on now," Hayato said as he snapped his chopsticks apart, "You'll feel better for getting it down you."

Kenzaki continued to stare as Hayato started eating.

“Kenzaki?”

Kenzaki jerked with sudden awareness. “I—sorry, Mr Ichimonji, I didn’t mean—thank you for the meal.” He picked up his own sticks and began to pick the thin noodles from the broth, one by one.

“Not got much of an appetite?”

Kenzaki shook his head.

“Me neither,” said Hayato, with a mouth full of noodles. The soup had been made with sugar; the fried tofu took a long time to chew; the scallions floated on the top.

"Now, tell me,” he said as he neared the end of the bowl, “What on earth was so important that you needed to be out in that storm for it?"

The lad slowly finished chewing a noodle and avoided Hayato’s eyes. "I was just... moving on to the next place.”

“And it couldn’t have waited a couple of hours?”

“Well, the typhoon seemed like a good chance to go without being noticed.”

“Not on tyres that worn, it wasn’t.” 

Kenzaki bowed his head sharply. “I’m sorry! Thank you for helping me. I’ll replace your scarf—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Said scarf was currently wrapped tight around Kenzaki’s knee, the blood mercifully only appearing as a dark patch on the the red fabric. “Just promise me you won’t neglect your bike’s maintenance again. I can see she’s been by your side for a long time. You usually take good care of her, don’t you?”

“It’s just the past few months, they’ve been—” Kenzaki shook his head. “I don’t know how to say it. It hasn’t felt real, somehow.”

“Mm, I know that feeling.” Hayato nodded and leaned back in his seat. “Sometimes I feel as though I remember battles that never happened. You haven’t been eating or sleeping well, I take it.”

“No, I—don’t need to.”

“Yes, you do.” Hayato leaned forward, and made eye contact with Kenzaki. “Maybe you can keep going for a good while without it, but you need to eat, and you need to rest. Even if you can’t enjoy it, you have to keep going through the motions of being human. Because when you let it drop, you get disconnected from humanity, and then you get in the habit of resenting people. And that’s a dangerous path for a Rider to go down.”

Kenzaki rested his chopsticks on their crumpled wrapper. “I—I should know that. I’m sorry. I’m bad at following my own advice.”

“Well, it’s hard to work up the will when you’re on your own. So I’m sticking with you until your bike’s fixed and you’re feeling better.”

He looked stunned by that. He started to protest, but Hayato cut him off. “Besides which, going by past experience, Riders meeting is a sign of trouble ahead. It’s better to be able to watch each other’s backs.”

To which point Kenzaki could only nod, looking somewhat relieved. “I’ll do my best, Mr Ichimonji.”

“It’s Hayato. Start by eating up.”

There was no steam rising from Kenzaki’s bowl any more. Hayato watched him lift it to his lips, grimace slightly, and down the broth like medicine.


	4. Entering and Breaking

The Aurora Curtain faded, leaving Tsukasa and Daiki on a grassy clifftop overlooking the sea. It was an overcast afternoon, a cold wind bringing the first few drops of rain.

There was no doubt that this was Blade’s world. Over the years, Tsukasa had got a pretty good sense for these things, but this one was more obvious than most. Something heavy hung over it. Something immense and patient. Waiting. A wrench had been thrown in the gears of oblivion, but they were still perfectly functional, poised for the right hand to set them in motion again.

Daiki, who either sensed none of this or gave no sign of it, kicked some loose dirt off the cliff. “So! Any ideas?”

“Any—” Tsukasa rounded on him. “This was  _ your  _ plan. I assumed it involved, y’know, a plan.”

Daiki hopped back a step, teetering deliberately on the precipice. “When have I ever had one of those?”

Tsukasa rolled his eyes, reaching back into a smaller Aurora Curtain to produce an umbrella. “ _ Fine _ , I’ll hold your hand through it. Get out that future book thing you stole from a Woz. Write us a happy ending.”

Daiki’s smile froze. “So  _ about  _ that.”

Tsukasa’s head tilted slightly.

“You remember Kamen Rider W’s library…”

Tsukasa blinked.

“And I was trying to steal some, uh…”

Tsukasa’s jaw tightened.

“And, well, long story short, a plastic velociraptor ate it.”

Tsukasa blinked again, then threw the umbrella in Daiki’s face, toppling him backwards into empty space and—a moment of midair flailing later—standing over him as he clung to the cliff-edge by his fingertips.

“So,” said Tsukasa, expression even, hands in his pockets, “I gotta endure  _ months  _ of imagining you laughing your ass off every time something falls off a shelf onto my head, or jumps out to trip me up, or whatever the hell, but the moment it’d actually be  _ useful _ …”

Daiki chuckled. “It’s been too long since I got a real rise out of you.”

Tsukasa sighed, hauling him back to safety by the shoulders and dumping him face-first on the ground. “Idiot.”

“Love you too.” Daiki sprung gymnastically to his feet, brandishing a triumphant finger. “Not to worry, though. I thought of something.”

“Am I gonna like it?”

“What do you think?”

* * *

Tachibana shook himself awake. He’d been staring at the same screen so long he’d started nodding off. How long, exactly? The last piece of solid work he’d done was...was...the sky had been brighter, at least.

He kicked himself away from the desk, chair wheeling back into the middle of the too-spacious office. The lights were off, but the computer screens were bright enough to hurt his head already. He should—

A rhythmic beeping cut across his scattered thoughts. Was that...the proximity alarm? Fewer and fewer people who were  _ supposed  _ to be here were coming lately. Who would break in?

He approached the monitor again, bringing up the CCTV feed. Flicking through angles, he found the culprit—the glass door to the main courtyard was shattered. The glass had fallen inwards, so yes, something was inside.

He shuddered. No-one else worked this late. In the whole complex, it was just him and...whatever this was. He took a deep breath, cycling through more cameras. The path seemed clear between here and the safe where the Garren Buckle was locked up, when it wasn’t needed for some experiment.

_ Right. _

He probably wouldn’t need it.

It was something.

* * *

As Tachibana ran, trying to balance speed and quiet, his mind tried to conjure some narrative about the BOARD lab complex suddenly seeming emptier or more oppressive or something, but it wasn’t true. What he was feeling now was barely more than a heightened version of how he always felt when it got this late.

He avoided turning on any lights he hadn’t left on earlier, extremely self-conscious of the sound each breath and footstep made. This next hallway took him dangerously close to that main courtyard, but two more turns and then…

A metallic  _ clang  _ rang out from behind him, just around a corner, and he almost jumped clear to the ceiling, letting out a startled cry. With the knowledge that whatever had broken in was both close and knew where he was, urgency overtook his mind and he bolted.

One turn—he passed out of the lit corridor—two turns—something dark moved in his peripheral vision as he rounded the corner—the door, the door to where the safe was, where his—

Something caught his shoulder and dragged him to a halt. He spun with what he hoped was more conviction than fear, and...

Found himself staring into the blazing red eyes of Kamen Rider Blade.

"... Kenzaki?" He whispered, mouth dry.

There was no answer but the tightening of the hand on his shoulder. He tore away until he was backed up to the wall, scrambling for words. “Why, Kenzaki? Why are you sneaking around like thi—"

Blade held up a hand, seeming exasperated. He reached down to detach—now  _ that  _ wasn’t Blade’s belt. And when the suit faded away, the mean beneath was certainly not Kenzaki Kazuma.

It was dark in here, so not many details could be made out, but he was very tall—mostly leg. Dressed expensively, but sloppily. And somehow, even beyond this confusing situation, he had an air of untrustworthiness to him.

He put the unfamiliar belt away. “A certain  _ someone  _ thought that’d be a good way to get your attention. I’d apologise, but it worked.”

“What...who…?”

“Kadoya Tsukasa. A Kamen Rider who’s passing through. Mr Tachibana, right? I want to talk to you about killing God.”


	5. Fight!! Super Clover

“It’s easy,” Daiki said, emerging from what seemed to be the direction of the lab.

“It’s really not,” Tsukasa said, Tachibana’s head swivelling like a startled owl to follow their conversation.

“Well, it’s  _ simple _ .”

“You’re right,” said Tsukasa. “Even a simpleton could come up with it.”

Tachibana straightened up, indignance starting to overcome anxiety. The bickering really cut into the duo’s menace. “I’m going to hope you know  _ exactly  _ what you’re talking about.”

“Of course.” Daiki turned from Tsukasa to him, head bobbing snake-like with the movement. “The god of this world is keeping two friends of yours apart forever. If I destroy it, there’s no problem, right?” The glee he said this with just wasn’t right.

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Tachibana asked.

“There’s the simple part. If they come together and fight, it appears.” Daiki mimed a gun firing. “Then I take it out.”

“And it’s that simple,” Tachibana said, deadpan.

“Yeah, like I said!”

“You should be old enough to know better.”

“Hey, hey.” Tsukasa stepped between them, shoving Daiki back. “This one might not be very reliable, but I happen to be pretty good at destroying things.”

“Look.” Tachibana stepped back. “Even if you are both Kamen Riders, which I’m assuming...what you’re talking about is impossible. It’s just a force of nature.”

Daiki’s head wormed its way over Tsukasa’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything. We just need to know where to find Chalice.”

“I’m not about to put the world in danger.”

“Not even to save it forever?” The ironic reserve left Tsukasa’s voice. For a moment, the Rider shone through. “Before creation must come destruction, you know.”

“And what do you intend to create?”

“A future without sadness...I guess.”

Tachibana sighed, seeming to deflate. “I...can almost see it. But my friend made a decision. I’m going to respect it.” He turned and hurried away from them, quickly passing out of the lighted part of the hallway. “Don’t follow me.”

Tsukasa watched him go, wondering how close he’d come. “Looks like this one’s a non-starter, Kaito.” There was no response. “...Kaito?” He backed up to the nearest doorway, spotting Daiki perusing an overfull corkboard. “You got something?”

“Not really. But why don’t we sleep on it?” He tore a brightly-coloured leaflet—covered in bold, easy-to-read hiragana and pictures of brightly-coloured costumes—from the single tack holding it in place. “I found the perfect thing to help cool off tomorrow.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“This stadium is now under the control of the Melancholicants! Capture the audience! Soon they’ll all be too fatigued to move!”

“Oh, no! Quick, kids! Let’s call Super Clover together! One, two—”

Daiki was bouncing so fast he barely touched the seat. It was a wonder he wasn’t drowning out the combined noise of the kids in the audience as he heartily added his voice to the chants of  _ “Super Clover!” _

Tsukasa felt more of a connection with the parents accompanying those kids. Up on stage, the somewhat staggered response seemed to do nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of the announcer, urging the kids to cheer for their hero’s arrival as all around her, costumed minions of evil bobbed back and forth with cheerfully overacted menace.

Daiki nudged his ribs. “I thought you’d be a little more into it.”

“I don’t hate it,” he offered.

“I know what your bored face looks like.”

“I guess you’re ruining it for me.” Tsukasa batted him away. “Anyway, I’m hungry.” He pushed his seat back, dodging his way through to the end of the line.

“Get me one~!” Daiki called after him, blowing a kiss.

“You don’t even know what I’m getting!” Tsukasa shot back over his shoulder. As he looked back, he caught a glimpse of the stage hero’s arrival—a green-armoured figure, a trefoil of plastic emeralds gleaming on his chest.

Daiki was about to shout back when he was firmly  _ shushed  _ by an elementary-schooler in the row behind, so Tsukasa left him to it.

* * *

  
  


There wasn’t as much food on offer as Tsukasa had expected around a public park like this, so it took him a couple minutes to find a likely-looking taiyaki stand. He ducked under the awning and out of the wind.

“One, please. Custard,” he said.

“I recommend the red bean paste,” said the vendor, bent almost double over the counter preparing a whole row of the snacks. Not that there seemed to be anyone around to sell them to.

“Well, I ordered custard,” Tsukasa said, more firmly.

“Bean paste is traditional,” came the reply. “It wouldn’t be wrong to call it ‘true taiyaki’.”

“The hell are you talking about? Do you make taiyaki or not?”

“We make all manner of flavours.”

“Then one custard,  _ please _ .”

“You should try the bean paste.”

“For—can I get a chocolate?”

“Bean paste is better.”

“Sweet potato, then.”

“That’s almost like bean paste, you might as well…”

“They’re totally different!”

“Are you going to order?”

“Get me one of everything! Except bean paste!”

“Please be specific.”

“Durian.”

“In taiyaki?”

“Better than bean paste.”

“Be reasonable.”

“Then tuna.”

“Not possible.”

“Asbestos.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Fine, I’ll order.”

“Yes?”

“One custard.”

“Bean paste!”

“Custard!”

“Bean paste!”

“Guess I’ll just starve!”

“ _ Damn you, Decade! _ ” The vendor—no, Narutaki burst up from under the counter, tearing off his employee cap to reveal his battered old bucket hat.

Tsukasa dragged a hand down his face. “Narutaki...what do you want?”

Narutaki leaned over the counter with an intense expression. “You have embarked on a path that could lead to the destruction of this world. It’s not too late to turn back.”

“You sure have a lot of free time,” Tsukasa said. “After all these years, haven’t I earned a little trust?”

“There is no need to interfere with this world.” Narutaki tilted further forward until he was almost horizontal, his feet lifting off the ground behind him. “As things are, Blade is a perfect, shining example of noble sacrifice. Crystallised heroism, as it were. The mere presence of a destabilising factor like you...”

Tsukasa remained unmoved. “I guess we have different ideas of ‘heroism’.”

“If you want to see a hero, Decade…” Narutaki levered himself back to his feet, stepping back into an Aurora Curtain. “...you should watch the show.”

Left alone, Tsukasa frowned. He didn’t like that tone. Narutaki hadn’t caused any real trouble for a while, but… it wasn’t like he understood the guy.

Tsukasa snatched a finished taiyaki that sat cooling on the rack, before turning and heading back towards the stage at a jog. He bit into the swiped treat as he went, and his frown deepened. Bean paste.

* * *

“H-Hey, you! Where’d you get that suit? Today’s monster is supposed to be—”

“I don’t know where I am, but I’ll salt you all up!” A strange amalgam of snail and machine sauntered onto the stage, pushing past confused performers with its cape sweeping around its legs. The cast’s confusion quickly turned to terror once arcs of electricity began to leap from its arm, starting little fires across the stage.

Daiki was enraptured, watching with unfiltered glee. A real monster showing up was the best thing that could have happened! One thing about this scene stood out almost instantly, though—someone wasn’t running. As soon as he’d got the rest of the crew to a safe distance, whoever was in the main hero suit turned back to face the creature.

Twin scarves whipping around in the wind, the ‘Super Clover’ performer paced a measured half-circle around the monster. “Where did you come from? You don’t look like an Undead…”

“Dead? How rude!” It reached a hand up to give an exaggerated tip of its top-hat. “The name’s Salty Bugster, and I’m very much alive. Now get ready to be salted!” It sent another bolt of lightning the performer’s way, but he dived under it and into a roll, rising to his feet within arm’s reach and tackling the monster around the waist.

“You won’t be hurting anyone here!” Amplified by his helmet microphone, Super Clover’s voice echoed around the emptying stadium.

“Futile!” Grabbing him by the shoulder with one hand, Salty threw him back through the air with inhuman ease. Super Clover sailed back into the abandoned seats, crashing into a tangled pile at Daiki’s feet.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Daiki smiled down at the groaning man. “Aren’t you going to save the day, Mr Hero? I was enjoying the show.”

“You should...get to safety…” Super Clover gasped, managing to rise to his hands and knees.

“You’re a stubborn one,” Salty said, readying its weapon-arm once more. “But can you survive this next a-salt?”

“You can’t...be serious.”

“Take this!” Salty thrust its arm forward, the first sparks crackling around its fingertips—and was smashed into the wall by a panel of golden light, several more sliding into place in a direct line up to where Kamen Rider Decade hung in the air for a single moment, before plunging down through the giant projected cards in a diving kick that drove Salty right through the stage and into the ground below, woodchips raining around them.

“Sorry,” Tsukasa said. “But you shouldn’t be in this world.”

“Damn it…” Salty croaked. “Guess I wasn’t...worth my salt…” It gave a final twitch before exploding, taking most of what remained of the stage with it. Tsukasa emerged from the flaming wreckage, detaching his belt to dismiss the Decade suit as he approached the recovering actor.

“You... you’re no normal stuntman.”

“I guess you could say that.” Super Clover stood, unbuckling and tugging off his helmet to breathe easier, shaking his head to unruffle his hair and sending sweat flying. “But you’re not like any Kamen Rider I’ve seen before, either.”

Daiki saw Tsukasa struggling to recognise the man, slapping a hand on the latter’s shoulder. “Kamen Rider Leangle. Formerly, anyway.”

Tsukasa nodded. “Oh, Mutsuki...it was Kuroba?”

“Wrong Leangle,” Daiki said. “Kamijou.”

“Right, right. Of course...hey, if you’re one of this world’s Riders, we could use your help with something. What do you think about saving Kenzaki Kazuma?”

Mutsuki got a deer-in-headlights look for a moment. “Wh—I mean, of course! Can you do that?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“That’d be wonderful! But…” He looked down. “I’m not a Kamen Rider anymore, so…”

“No problem at all.” Daiki suddenly popped up behind him, dangling the Leangle Buckle in front of his face. “If you’re up for it...”

Mutsuki snatched the Buckle on instinct, backing away and staring down at it. “How did you get this?”

“We’re just borrowing it for a bit. So, you’re in?”

Mutsuki gripped the cold metal in his gloved fingers, fending off the memories trying to claw their way into his mind’s eye. “I… if it’s for Kenzaki… all right. I’ll do it.” He looked up. “Yeah. I’ll… what is it we’re doing?”


	6. Bugs Like Us

Perhaps, Hayato thought as he shook the stiffness out of his arm, he was past being able to camp on stony riversides now. But Kenzaki was far calmer now than the night before that they’d spent at a hostel, and that was more important to his recovery than a real bed. Not that the crash seemed to have left any lasting injury— the only evidence that Kenzaki had been bleeding at all was in Hayato’s ruined scarf.

Besides which, camping did have its joys, especially with a companion quick enough to catch fish with his bare hands. So Hayato had started a crackling fire and they’d each roasted a modest trout over it, devouring the hot, crisp skin and picking every scrap of soft, oily flesh away from the fine bones. And now they had an afternoon with naught in the sky but an occasional passing cloud.

Quiet days spent with someone else like this, between storms, were a rare treasure. Hayato thought fondly on the times he’d teased Hongo for wasting a nice day with a dull book, and had gone off to enjoy it the right way, by riding around and taking pictures. It looked for a moment as though his current companion might also be content to spend the afternoon reading, but the book he drew out of his bag turned out to be a photobook— a volume of what looked like nature or documentary photography.

Hayato’s camera didn’t need cleaning, but he took the opportunity to slowly clean it anyway, and waited. Eventually, Kenzaki closed his book and gazed into the extinguished fire.

“May I take a look?” Hayato asked.

Kenzaki jerked a little, as though suddenly woken. “Oh, the book? Sure, just be careful with it.”

Hayato took it very gently from Kenzaki’s hands, and saw why. The dust jacket was heavily worn at the edges and the band had been torn at some point— then repaired with tape, and tucked carefully inside the front cover. More of the pages were loose than were still attached to the binding. How many thousands of times had Kenzaki looked through this?

“You’re a photographer yourself, Mr Hayato?” Kenzaki asked.

“I am,” Hayato replied, as he started to turn the pages. “Half hobby, half recon. Well, I made money from it when I was young, but it’s hard to keep up your contacts when you’re travelling around.”

The book was far heavier fare than expected; a quiet, melancholic study of trauma-soaked places. A snowy mountainside, the edge of a cliff, a harbour, a wretched and familiar beach, all aching with cold light and loss. There were a few sweet elements that drew up bitter tears— at an observatory, under a bridge, in a forest with the barest remains of a house. Hayato had to hope the photographer had a joy somewhere, and just deliberately chose to not include it. But there was no information about them, apart from an email address and a name: Masaki Kenichi.

The kanji looked oddly familiar. Where had he seen those characters— yes, in the garage yesterday, on the form Kenzaki had signed for his bike. In a different order, but there was no way it was a coincidence, surely.

“Tell me about your photographer. Masaki, is it? Another Rider?”

Kenzaki nodded. “You could say that.”

“He’s good. He cares very much about the world.”

“Right!” The praise lifted Kenzaki from the slouch he’d adopted in the camping chair. “There’s something about his photographs that’s like— human, but more human than normal, which shouldn’t make sense but it does, I swear. Well I mean— you probably get it from looking at it, since you’re a photographer yourself.”

“I can tell that he has a great deal of patience. Waiting for the weather on some of these must have taken days. Seasons, even.”

“Yeah, he’s… good at waiting. I guess.”

Hayato gave the precious book back to Kenzaki. “You all went through a lot, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” There was a tired, relieved expression on Kenzaki’s face, one that Hayato had seen from other Riders realising they’d met someone that could understand their struggle— someone to whom they could finally talk.

“Come on.” Hayato looped his camera strap around his neck and stood up. “Let’s stretch our legs a bit, and you can tell me about your… Masaki.”

Kenzaki put his book in his bag, and sighed, and stood up. “Well. His name’s Aikawa Hajime. I met him while working for an organisation called BOARD...”

* * *

“... and so we’re stuck like this forever, or else the world ends.”

Hayato decided that he’d taken his last shot of the sunset sky, and fixed the lens cap back on his camera while trying to find some comforting words.

…

Which turned out to be an impossibility. What sheer hell.

He forced himself to put on a grin instead. “So… you like Hajime?”

“God— I knew him for a year, fifteen years ago.” Kenzaki’s eye-roll was practically audible. “I told you how rude he is, didn’t I?”

“Oh, rude boys are fun. You get this dreamy look when you talk about him.”

Kenzaki harrumphed.

Hayato softened his smile. “You’re doing really well.”

“No, I’m not,” snapped Kenzaki. “I’ve spent the last half a year so screwed up thinking about Hajime all the time that I haven’t been able to help anyone at all. Then you had to come and save me from my own stupidity.”

“Have you ever met Hongo, Kenzaki? You sound a lot like him, you know.”

There was a surprised pause from Kenzaki. “But he’s… um.”

“Kamen Rider? Imagine _ that _.” Hayato pointedly raised his eyebrows. “He falls into dour moods a lot. Tries to keep everything to himself. Every Rider I know is the same way— well, not Amazon, he’s sweet all the way through, but everyone else. It’s the nature of our lives.”

The evening calls of birds and insects echoed in the silence between them. Hayato watched the storm building behind Kenzaki’s eyes, and waited. Until—

“I don’t _ like _ people,” Kenzaki spat out, fury building in his voice. “Are the Riders you know like that, huh? You said I have to keep pretending to be human so I don’t start hating them but I just— I get so angry, I see humans doing the worst shit to each other over and over and it doesn’t matter how many I help, there’s always someone else ready to come along and fuck it all up. Should I try and be like _ that _, then? Cleaning up after disasters would be so much easier if humans weren’t so damn greedy to begin with, and it’s all going to get worse as they keep fucking the climate up, and I’m either going to have to watch the whole thing happen slowly, or I’m going to end up fucking killing everything myself, or I’ll die somehow and Hajime will do it.”

Kenzaki paused, drawing shaky breaths. “And Hajime loves humans. He really does,” he continued, the fire in his voice dying to embers. “It’ll hurt him _ so _ much worse than it’ll hurt me, so—”

He choked on his words, and turned away, and started on the trail back towards the riverside camp.

Hayato stood still in the wake of the outburst, listening to every retreating footstep as the sky above darkened.

* * *

_ “Whatever happened to that girl you were with when I first met you? Ruriko?” Hayato asked, unable to bear the sound of rain drumming on the tent or the butterflies in his gut any longer. “She must have been sweet on you, to insist on chasing you over to America.” _

_ “Oh, well, you know.” Takeshi suddenly looked flustered. “Nobody needs a target painted on them by associating with me for too long. Besides, it was time for her to move on from fighting Shocker.” _

_ “Ah. Was it revenge?” _

_ “For her father. She thought I’d murdered him, to begin with. I think she was trying to make up for the accusation, and once she found out about— well,” Takeshi gestured to his body, letting his book fall closed in the process, “she was carrying the guilt that he’d given them my name.” _

_ Hayato stretched on his bedroll, begging his stomach to stop flipping. “So… you sent Ruriko home, and went off to find some charming new assistants in Europe?” _

_ “You’re making me sound like a scoundrel.” _

_ “Oh am I? You play chance with a two-tailed coin!” _

_ Takeshi laughed sheepishly, and scrubbed his hand through his lovely dark curls. _

_ Now he’d started, Hayato resolved to push on. “You didn’t like her?” _

_ “No, no, she was a wonderful friend.” Tears crept into the corners of Takeshi’s eyes. “It was more that being around her led me to think about a life I’d never be able to live.” _

_ “Ahh, well,” Hayato said louder than he’d meant to, “there’s more than one way to find happiness. Surely you’re not too square to never have played around on your travels?” _

_ “The truth is… I never really had the chance to find out. Before.” Takeshi barked out a laugh. ”And now, even after a few years, I have trouble controlling my strength when I’m nervous. So nevermind.” _

_ Whose heartbeat could he hear so loudly now? Takeshi’s? Or his own? _

_ Hayato swallowed, and looked into Takeshi’s eyes— then pushed his mind forward, past his companion’s handsomely furrowed brow, to whisper: _

** _Do you want to find out what it’s like?_ **

* * *

The rumbling of water boiling in the kettle snapped Hayato out of his reverie. He jumped to move it off the heat and grab his mug. Kenzaki obviously needed his privacy in the tent, so he’d stoked up the fire to keep himself company. It wouldn’t get cold enough tonight to cause him any trouble, but hot chocolate was a great comfort after dragging up memories, good or bad. Even the good ones meant reckoning with the time since you’d last seen someone. Over and over, weeks fighting apart turned into months, and months piled up, and it would be fine, until—

He couldn’t taste anything, which meant he’d probably just burned his tongue. Damn.

Hayato put his mug down by the fire and stood up, stretching. It was no good moping around while there was still a breeze brushing the treetops. He looked up at the moon, a bright cat’s-claw silver shining in the dark, and gathered the wind to him.

_ "Transform." _

His belt whirred, the rush of wind and light passed, and Hayato stood transformed under the moonlight. 

This was his strongest body yet. Thick armour covered tough hide, able to withstand the blows he used to dodge with the flexibility of youth. Red greaves and gauntlets had replaced the boots and gloves of years ago. But no matter how many times his body had been repaired and modified, the fluttering scarf around his neck had never changed.

He stretched his mind towards the sky and began his meditation, twitching his antennae back and forth in the night breeze to try and catch the signal of his partner. Any indication that he was okay, or hurt, or a hint of the direction to ride in to bring them back together—

_ Turn Up _, a mechanised voice said somewhere behind him, joined by the sound of fizzing energy. Hayato turned to see Kamen Rider Blade running towards him, red eyes shining large and round in the moonlight.

"What's happening?" Kenzaki yelled, springing to get back-to-back with Hayato. "Where's the danger?"

“It’s fine! There’s nothing—” Jumpy bastards, Riders. Hayato should have expected it. “I was just checking something. Sorry for waking you.”

Kenzaki sagged against him. “I wasn’t asleep anyway.”

“Thinking too hard?”

“Mm.”

“You want to spar for a while to tire you out?”

“Not really.”

“What, scared you’ll rough up this old man? I’m tough enough to keep up with you kids.”

There was a big sniffle from inside the helmet as Kenzaki stepped away. “It’s not you. It’s, you know, anyone.”

“You’ve forgotten what it’s like, haven’t you? Not being afraid.” Hayato held out an open palm. “Come on. Best shot. You’ll be lucky if I even feel it.”

With faltering slowness, Kenzaki drew up his shoulders and turned to face Hayato full-on. Without a word, he stepped back in, throwing his body-weight behind his fist— and coming to a juddering halt against the sturdy gauntlet.

“What? What’s that? I said your _ best _.”

Kenzaki drew back, an irritated noise escaping the mask, sword leaping from his hip with a smoothness the years couldn’t dull. He seemed to be struggling with a feeling he couldn’t find words for. Hayato beckoned, and Kenzaki brought the sword to bear, graceful strikes from all directions, Hayato giving ground while keeping his defence up. It didn’t matter much what part of his arm he caught the blows on; this was barely enough to even bother deflecting away from his body.

Kenzaki pushed all the way into the thick forest this way to no avail, pulling back to catch his breath. But it seemed he hadn’t just been wasting energy— the little readout at his blade’s base had been building with every strike and parry. Now he reached for the hilt, sliding a trio of cards he drew from within down the blade before jamming it into the ground. The fearsome images this projected behind him were ominous enough, as was the synthesised voice that narrated the procedure. _ Kick _ — _ Thunder _ — _ Mach: Lightning Sonic. _

Any Rider would have recognised the result. Kenzaki leapt into the air, the holograms converging on him and melting away into a surge of electricity that raced down into his outstretched boot--and then accelerated all at once, crossing the distance in an instant to slam into the forearm Hayato had raised to block. The impact was immense, driving him back through the campground and into the undergrowth, his entrenched feet carving out twin channels in the earth, but his stance held firm. The storm of energy coursed harmlessly over his carapace, and he shoved back against the kick, leaving Kenzaki hanging flailing in midair, before bringing his other arm around and driving a right hook into the younger Rider’s armoured chest.

There had been no lightshow or readout, but the single blow left Kenzaki flat on his back, a delayed cry of surprise coming some two seconds after the pain.

Hayato lowered his fist. “Now _ that’s _what I meant by a hit.”

“I get what you’re saying,” came Kenzaki’s voice from the ground. He had something in his hands Hayato didn’t recognise. “Loud and clear.”

_ ABSORB QUEEN _

“I almost believe you.”

_ EVOLUTION KING _

The Blade that stood up, emerging from a glowing golden sheen, was as broad-shouldered as Hayato’s own current form, brandishing an equally hefty weapon. Each sturdy armour segment was emblazoned with its own fantasy creature, pride of place going to a golden beetle curling its way up the chestplate.

“I hope you’re prepared,” Kenzaki said. “_ This _is my best shot.”

One, two, three, four, five cards were loaded in, the sword dutifully announcing the name of each, followed by _ ROYAL STRAIGHT FLUSH _. Cute. Hayato mimed cracking his neck, preparing for what he knew could be a genuine test— one that he owed it to his new friend to pass.

Blade came charging through his row of card-projections, his sword brimming with otherworldly power. Hayato swayed sideways, catching a tree-trunk and swinging himself around the first strike, which Kenzaki had the self-control to halt before it melted an unfortunate bush. A playful shove from behind sent him stumbling forward in this moment of distraction, but he recovered quicker than Hayato expected, bringing the still-shining weapon up at too close quarters to dodge.

Hayato got an arm up in time, with the briefest moment to pick his target. He thought about going for the wrist, but he couldn’t leave any ambiguity here. It wouldn’t have full force without a run-up, but what the hell. He went straight for the blade—

_ “Rider Chop!” _

They clashed with a brilliant flash and a deafening roar. When it cleared, Kenzaki found himself empty-handed, dumbfounded for a second until a heavy _ thud _echoed from behind him.

He sank to his knees, trying to figure out what the emotion he was feeling right now even was.

Then he laughed.

He caught it quickly, but by then his conscious brain had caught up and he let go, laughing freely as he cancelled his transformation. “I’m not even close, am I, Mr Hayato? There are people...I can’t even dream of hurting.”

Hayato returned to human form as well, crouching in front of him on shaking legs. “Kenzaki. I _ am _Kamen Rider. I fight for humanity’s freedom to the best of my ability.” He pulled Kenzaki into a hug, feeling his shoulders start to tremble. “That includes you.”


	7. Ace's Heart

Mutsuki had been quite firm that meddling in Hajime's business was best done in the morning, after a night's rest and good breakfast. That suited Tsukasa perfectly, and Daiki could put up with it. The sun was nearly high by the time they reached a break in the cool cover of the trees, and the cabin that Mutsuki had said he had visited once or twice before.

He seemed to notice something, springing ahead at haste while Tsukasa was still taking in the forest, Mutsuki’s calls echoing back to him. “Mr. Aikawa? Mr. Aikawa!”

Tsukasa followed slowly, realising what had caught Mutsuki’s eye—the door hung open, bumping against the fence, leaves trailing inside. Not that he needed that to know there was no-one here. Stillness hung heavy over the little house in the woods, a stillness that had had weeks to build.

He made his unhurried way into the single-room cabin. Neat little stations for everything; photos, books, a rice cooker, the bed. There was something too claustrophobic about it, though, even for how small it was. Soon his gaze settled on the furniture. There was too much of it. Too much for one person living in one room. Mutsuki was having to awkwardly weave around chairs and stools on his way back to the door. There was nothing to suggest a second person had actually been living here, but it was all laid out as if there had been.

Mutsuki passed him, heading to check outside. There wasn’t exactly anywhere in here Hajime could be hiding. Tsukasa stayed where he was, lifting his gaze to the walls. Almost every available surface was covered in photos. All devoted to the natural world, from the closest study of a mantis to the widest sweep of a cliffside. If the man photographed humans at all, it didn’t get displayed. This was what he was proud of. Not just studies, but...gazes, even? What he had at first taken for fascination was something more like  _ longing _ . The more he looked, the more that feeling of separation, or voluntary withdrawal, grew.

And so he got to know Aikawa Hajime.

Daiki found him transfixed in that desperate little room. He didn’t have the same eye for the mundane, of course. All that glittered was all that mattered. He couldn’t see what Tsukasa could, but he caught him trembling. “...Tsukasa?”

“I don’t know. It’s...” Tsukasa stepped backwards, retreating from the sight. How to explain this to Daiki? To explain that he’d never seen anything quite this lonely?

He found himself backing directly into Daiki's embrace, and he let himself be held. Just as he supposed he'd let himself be led the whole time, finally finding himself in this lonely room, silent but for the breath of two people, and the soft kiss against the side of his neck. What a place, and what a story, firing up that dangerous desire to save something—but wasn't this the same as it ever was with Daiki? No explanations, every move laced with ulterior motive? Were his sights set lower than he claimed, or had he really finally learned to think of treasure in abstract?

It was useless to guess. When you let him in, he’d been tricking you; when you pushed him away, he’d been sincere. Not that he had much of a poker face, ultimately. Even if he’d omitted something, he wasn’t  _ lying  _ about what they were doing. It’d be fine. Maybe. Tsukasa leaned into him, eyes closed, letting the moment drag out.

“I don’t think he’s—oh!” A very surprised Mutsuki stood in the doorway.

The moment he made his presence known, Daiki bristled like a sleeping cat disturbed. He suddenly gave Tsukasa’s ass a squeeze, feigning breaking off an altogether more heated embrace. “We’ll pick this up later.”

Tsukasa laughed, shaking his head.  _ God forbid someone see you being honest… _

“U-Um...” Mutsuki pressed on. “Well, Mr. Aikawa isn’t anywhere nearby. Is what I was. Going to say.”

“Hasn’t been gone too long,” said Daiki, sending photos fluttering from the table as he ran his finger across it, displaying the thin layer of dust.

“I might be able to...hold on.” Mutsuki headed back to the front door, taking a step outside and signalling for quiet. He tilted his head as a breeze kicked up, seeming to converge on him for a moment before dying down. “He’s not far. I can take you.”

“And how do you know that?” Daiki asked, slipping out after him with a wide-eyed curiosity.

Mutsuki smiled a little. “I was a Kamen Rider, you know. I’m not an Undead or anything, but I wouldn’t call myself a ‘normal human’ anymore, either.”

Daiki nodded, impressed. “Tsukasa, you coming?” he called back into the house.

Inside, Tsukasa tore his eyes from the photos. This was a man he had to meet.

* * *

Somehow, the lone tent clinging to the sand wasn’t nearly as lonely as that house had been.

Tsukasa led the way down the beach, picking up the scent of something cooking as he approached. Frying seafood blended with the salt air and made for an oddly refreshing effect.

Under the overhanging canvas awning, poking at a worn gas stove, a little man in a big coat sat looking out towards the sea.

“What do you want?” he asked, not looking up from the takoyaki he was carefully turning over.

Tsukasa came to a stop. “You’re hard to sneak up on, Aikawa Hajime.”

Eventually, Mutsuki charged into the growing gap of silence. “I was worried about you, Mr. Aikawa. Finding you just gone, that was scary.”

“Yes.” That seemed to be an apology. “I’m...better. Needed air.” Apparently considering that conversation resolved, he looked pointedly at Tsukasa.

“Easy. My interest here is professional.” Tsukasa produced a photobook from the cabin, flipping it open to a predetermined page with a flourish as if studying it. “Be happy. I acknowledge you as a fellow artist.”

Hajime perked up. “You’re a photographer?”

Sensing the tension drop, Tsukasa came closer, fishing a couple recent examples out of his jacket pocket. One, a ruined Dai-Shocker base, which in the development process had got some throne in it. The other was a nicely-composited (he thought) long shot of the open road, which some blurs that looked a bit like Natsumi and Yusuke had snuck into.

Hajime lowered the flame on the stove, taking a photo in each hand. He peered at each in turn for a second, before giving an amused smile.

Tsukasa sighed. “Oh, you too?”

“Are these portraits?” Hajime paused. “Well, I like the feeling it creates, in the abstract. It doesn’t feel random exactly...”

Tsukasa stood up straight, preening as he absorbed the compliments. “Well...it’s good someone gets it.”

Hajime handed back the photos, checking the takoyaki before standing. “Something’s been bothering me since you got here. You’re human, but not. Am I wrong, Mr…?”

“Kadoya Tsukasa. Let’s call me a ‘unique existence’.”

A voice rang down from the old seawall above. “Don’t listen to them!”

A line of bullet impacts traced the ground between the group and Hajime, chasing them back away from him. Kamen Rider Garren jumped down to the sand, his gun still raised. “I can’t let you do this.”

“Do what? What’s this about?” Hajime asked.

“They want to bring you and Kenzaki together. ‘Save’ you. They think they can destroy the Sealing Stone. Not a risk we can take..”

Hajime froze. “Kenzaki...is that even…”

“This is your last warning!” Tachibana yelled.

“As if you scare us,” Daiki said.

Tsukasa patted his shoulder, stepping forward past him. “I’m starting to believe in this happy ending, too.” He slotted a card into his belt, snapping the buckle shut.

_ KAMEN RIDE: DECADE _

“No choice, then.” Garren opened fire again, Tsukasa swaying out of the way, bouncing back into a spring forwards to startle. Once he got in close, he just shoved the gun aside, Tachibana stumbling aside to keep hold of it. He swung a punch, but Tsukasa blocked with jarring force against his forearm, knocking it wide and leaving him unguarded. Tsukasa took the opportunity to lean into a heel-kick, shoving Tachibana back.

“Try not to die till I finish warming up,” Tsukasa said, inserting another card. This time he took on a whole new armoured visage, trading pink for red—Kamen Rider Ryuki. One more card to summon a weapon, and a dragon-mouthed gauntlet he’d summoned onto his arm spewed fire at Garren, knocking him off his feet entirely.

When the flames died down, Hajime was standing protectively over him, a belt and card of his own on display, shimmering in the heat-haze.

“I can feel it,” he said. “You’re like me.”

“I’m not a Joker, if that’s what you mean,” Tsukasa said.

“You’re just as dangerous.  _ Transform! _ ”

Chalice’s transformation was as elegant as the form itself. A spray of dark water burst from it in all directions, extinguishing Ryuki’s flames in an instant and throwing up a wall of steam. Tsukasa was still reeling from this when Hajime came charging through it, striking Tsukasa across the chest with his bladed bow.

Tsukasa brought his guard up, bracing for the next attack, but the mist was clearing—a shot from Tachibana took him in the leg, buckling his stance and making an opening for Hajime’s next leaping strike. He spun as he fell, landing on his front with a groan, the borrowed Ryuki powers fading and leaving him in his own armour.

Tachibana readied for another shot—then something tapped against his shoulder. The corner of his eye caught Kamen Rider Diend training a gun on him.

“Two on one’s mean,” Daiki said sweetly. “Why don’t you play with me instead?”

Tachibana took a deep breath, relaxing his aim as if surrendering, before bursting into action and ducking under Daiki’s reaction shot. He brought his pistol up, trying to reverse the situation, but Daiki was adjusting his aim too, and their quickdraw ended up a tie, each Rider staring down a gun-barrel.

“I don’t have time for this,” Tachibana said.

Daiki’s helmet tilted, miming a wink. “Don’t get distracted, now.”

* * *

Tsukasa got up to one knee just in time, dragging his sword up to block Hajime’s descending blow. “I understand how you feel, you know.”

Hajime didn’t reply, barely giving Tsukasa time to finish standing up as he pressed the attack, an inhuman grace and energy to his movements. He wrung every possible advantage out of his unusual weapon; as soon as one blade was deflected, he’d use the momentum of the rebound to bring the other around in the opposite direction. When Tsukasa forced him back, he tightened his stance and unleashed a volley of laser shots. Not once did he pause for breath, and Tsukasa found himself backed all the way into the shallows.

He quickly slotted a card into his Driver, waiting for the next lightning blow—there. As their blades collided, he could already see Hajime preparing to double around with the other blade. While they were still in contact, Tsukasa snapped his driver shut, shoving forward against the bow with his own weapon.

_ ATTACK RIDE: SLASH _

Spectral blades raked down Chalice’s armour, bypassing his guard completely and hurling him back into the water.

“You feel like talking yet?” Again, Tsukasa got no reply. Growing irritated, he sent another enhanced slash down at the figure kneeling in the water. He thought he’d predicted where Hajime might dodge, but wasn’t prepared for him to rise directly into the air.  _ Float,  _ came the gentle announcement as Hajime ascended in a wide arc out of striking range.

Not wanting to lose momentum, Tsukasa switched his Ridebooker to its gun mode, drawing a bead—but not fast enough, as Hajime angled sharply in midair, swooping back down past Tsukasa and raking a blade across his side.

Hajime rose from his crouch, his whole arsenal of cards emerging from its holder to float in a grid in front of him, humming with power.

* * *

Garren and Diend ran parallel tracks across the sand at arm’s length, gunshots tearing up the ground around them. Daiki came to a sudden halt to throw off the rhythm, lining up and taking his shot just as his target turned, but Tachibana dropped to one knee to duck under it, returning fire and sending the Diendriver flying.

As Daiki dived for it, Tachibana turned towards the sea, and the fight unfolding down at the shoreline. But just as he reached for the Rouze Absorber, Kamen Rider Leangle tackled him two-handed, pulling him sideways.

“Mr Tachibana!” Mutsuki pleaded. “Calm down!”

“I can’t let them!” Tachibana thrashed against his grip, throwing him off. “Everything will be destroyed!”

Mutsuki rolled with the fall, coming up on one knee. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Hasn’t all your research been looking for a way to make this right?”

“And this isn’t the way, Mutsuki!” Tachibana attached the Absorber to his arm, fanning the Rouzer open.

Daiki selected a pair of cards, aiming at the ground. “Let’s let a couple more cats out of the bag.”

_ KAMEN RIDE: TIGER! BEAST! _

Tachibana hesitated, hand still on his Jack and Queen, four Riders now circling him.

“Now you’re a full litter,” Daiki said, patting his summoned Riders on the shoulder to motion them forward.

The meaning took a moment to get through to Tachibana, and he swung his head away from Mutsuki’s giggling. “...I’m not a cat.”

* * *

Tsukasa staggered back, steam billowing from gouges in his armour left by Wild Chalice’s blades. “Didn’t expect this...without using the Joker’s power, either…”

“Almost the opposite.” Hajime brought the larger weapon back to bear, scarlet energy pulsing from its centre, ready to unleash.

All of a sudden, Tsukasa’s whole stance relaxed, gaze drifting off as if losing focus. Seemingly in a daze, he swayed slowly to one side as Hajime rushed in—then snapped in the other direction, letting go of his weapon to grapple Hajime by the wrist and under the other arm. Instead of trying a direct contest of force with the energised bow still centimetres from his head, he pivoted at the waist and dragged upwards, tossing Hajime over one shoulder with his own momentum.

Hajime landed face-up in the surf, hissing as he lost control of his gathered power and the blast fired wide. Tsukasa was already standing over him, a gauntlet plunging down at his visor—it made contact and somehow they  _ connected _

_ and there was DESTRUCTION _

Hajime gasped for air with human lungs, sitting bolt upright, wild-eyed. The water was soaking into his shirt, and the Rouzer was dissolving back under his borrowed skin.

Tsukasa stood a few feet back, also unarmoured, studying him intently. “How you feeling?”

Hajime fought to control his breathing, looking away. He’d sensed they were alike, but to  _ feel  _ it…

“You’ve been thinking about this all wrong.” Tsukasa trudged closer, hopping over a low wave. “If I’m anything like you, I know how you feel.” He offered a hand, and Hajime took it without a word.

* * *

With Hajime calmed down, Tachibana’s protests quickly petered out. He still wasn’t happy, but it was hard to be the only one in the group who wanted to keep fighting.

It was more than obvious Hajime was not a social creature, so Tsukasa led him away on a stroll down the beach, where the biting breeze would carry their conversation away from the others.

There was a slight waver in Hajime’s step before he spoke at last. “What would you do?”

“In your situation?” Tsukasa asked. He wasn’t corrected, so he pressed on. “If there was an easy fix, you’d have thought of it. Our situations are kinda similar, though.”

This drew a curious look by way of response. Tsukasa continued: “Destroying the world is my job, too, as much as I try and steer clear of it.” He spread his arms. “It’s not dependent on anyone else, though. I just have to figure out what I want to be, on my own.”

“That’s not true.” Hajime’s words cut across Tsukasa’s, silencing them. He looked back at the distant group, then back to Tsukasa. “You’re not that lonely.”

Tsukasa’s whole posture slumped. “I really can’t get along with people who see through me.” Hajime was right, of course. The layers he’d built over what he didn’t want to be, it was all them. Daiki, Natsumi, Yusuke, even Narutaki, and countless others. Memories end on end, an album telling the story of the Tsukasa they’d built.

He collected himself, returning to reality. “Look...I get it. What you two are doing is the right thing. But nobody should have to be the hero all the time.” He came to a halt, blocking Hajime’s way forward. “Be a little selfish. And if it goes wrong, let someone else save you.”

Hajime glared at him for a long time. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, he straightened up. Something stirred behind his eyes.

“Being a ‘Kamen Rider’...seemed to mean a lot to him.” He held a finger up to Tsukasa’s face, almost threatening. “I feel like taking a chance on what he believes in.”

* * *

“I really don’t believe you,” Tachibana said. “You of all people know what’s at stake here!” Hajime just shrugged, mind made up.

“If something goes wrong, we’ll take care of it together,” Mutsuki insisted.

Daiki leaned against Tsukasa, hooking an arm around his shoulders. “We  _ do  _ have destroyer of worlds. One little god shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Don’t tell me I’m just your muscle, here…” Tsukasa mumbled.

“Now now, babe, I value you for your mind as well as your body—”

Tachibana coughed loudly. “You should know, I only panicked and came to fight because I thought you had a chance of succeeding.” He pulled an old, chunky handheld device from his pocket, showing them the map on the screen. One point gleamed with a golden flare symbol. “The Undead Searcher only works to a certain distance...except if the signal is strong enough. Kenzaki used King Form last night, and I know where.”

Hajime surged forward and grabbed the reader. While the others started planning and conferring, Mutsuki stepped up to Tachibana.

“Um, thank you. I really appreciate the help. I know you don’t feel great about this…”

Tachibana stuck his hands in his pockets, smiling morosely. “I don’t know if I’d have come around if you weren’t here. I guess...you’re not a kid anymore. I should trust your judgement a little.”


End file.
